


love like untouched art

by fadinglove



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angel Steve, Developing Relationship, Fights, M/M, Slow Build, Survival, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Weekly Updates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-07-13 23:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7141628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadinglove/pseuds/fadinglove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>A blazing hash of angelic light, two widespread wings of triumphed fate, and a careless order of war.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Tony can't quite paint the tragic masterpiece of his angel apocalypse. (abandoned work)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the thunder of breaking hearts and our earth collapsing like the big bang never happened

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [World on Angelfire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7057159) by [sianyboxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sianyboxx/pseuds/sianyboxx). 
  * Inspired by [Penryn & the End of Days Series](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/207682) by Susan Ee. 



A blazing hash of angelic light, two widespread wings of triumphed fate, and a careless order of war. Blood stained white, streaks of sinning crimson slashed mercilessly across holy ivory that echoes the bearings of heaven itself. Man always fear that it does not know, after all. And although angels are written into our very Bible, clutched to hearts as a symbol of peace, love, hope; worn as if a personal guardian, a savior of grace, it only took a single impulsive order from a morally distraught general to begin a war never meant to happen.

When Gabriel the archangel stepped forward with his mighty wings of white steel and a heart poured of literal gold, an officer only saw fear run through his eyes at the sight of something so supernatural, fantastical, _impossible._ "Fire," he barked out to his men, rashly, without meaning to, and the soldiers, confused and afraid and everything in between, did as they were told.

Angels are humans with wings and the experience of Heaven. Although they serve under God, they are still susceptible to every emotion, every mistake, every snapping heartstring. As each bullet buried itself between the feathers, he was weighed down; he could see nothing but agony that he had never felt before.

Imagine feeling pain for the very first time.

And so Gabriel screamed with something that wasn't quite human, wasn't quite angel, and unleashed the gates of Heaven unto the lesser beings of Earth. He dissipated into stardust and matter under the fury of Him, taking nothing with him but leaving countless angels behind. The people fled as they flew down to ravage the planet, destroy and destruct as well as they could build and bless.

And it's a secret not many know, but angelfire burns a little brighter than the deepest infernos of Hell itself.


	2. every inch like i imagined, you and me against the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ft. angel natalia & an innocent stephan (steve and natasha didn't seem like good angelic names so i switched them up)

Tony Stark digs himself out of the smoking remains of Brooklyn, New York, to travel swiftly and secretly to one of his many safe houses. He has only Pepper and her paranoia to thank for that, because he's always scoffed at the idea of an apocalypse, even if Iron Man receives unidentified galactic threats on a daily basis. Stark Tower remains untouched, for some reason, but he won't risk it.

Life in Miami is isolated, deserted, and lonely. His mansion is cloaked with hypersensitive camouflage electrodes, successfully masking the entire place as soon as he enters and calls lockdown, and there isn't a damn sign of civilization for miles- just how he built it to be. Wandering survivors, strapped with backpacks and grime-covered faces, pass occasionally. He would invite them in, but it's risky, and most of them seem to be doing just fine on their own, so he just leaves food outside for them instead.

He knows Pepper and Rhodes are alive in Los Angeles (much too far away for his liking, but what can he do about it) and calls them nightly using an emergency protocol communicator he built into nearly all of their clothes. It's more or less the highlight of his days, until he can be with them again. For now, he'll make do with JARVIS.

Running statistics scans and downloading information fed by everything he can reach around the world, Tony can conclude that the death counts are massive. Unsurprisingly, the number of human corpses exceeds angels', and he knows Earth is facing something like a double genocide here. Despite having little to no information on these creatures, he's already begun formulating plans and designing weapons (even though he knows he'll never put the latter to test) in hopes of saving the planet.

Very rarely, an angel will pass by his house, and it always leaves Tony holding his damn breath and freezing in place like a damn child. Every ounce of pride and confidence he's put into his sensors and guns and armor seem to dissipate, leaving only him cowering under a divine figure that literally can't even see him. In a span of two months, he's spotted three. The first two have flown by overhead, but the most recent one came within feet of his window, standing silently as if trying to figure something out. Tony wishes he could go over it differently, but what happened is what happened:

The billionaire went slack-jawed, dropped every paper and machinery bit in his arms, and stumbled over to the spanning glass walls to take a look, as if it were some wild zoo animal.

He still remembers the beauty of it, though. The angel was female, with curling crimson hair down to her back, face a statuesque structure of delicate lines and sharp shadows, looking ethereal while displaying a hint of coolness at the same time. But the wings- the wings were fantastical. She spread them, and he could see every slanting hue of scarlet, gold, lily, burnt orange, shimmering in twilight as if she had captured a sunset with her wings.

As a bird in the distance chirped, the moment shattered. She snapped her head up as if disturbed out of a moment lost in thought, and flew off in a quiet rush of cascading feathers. He had looked after her, contemplating.

Today, Tony is enjoying the darkest, strongest, most bitter cup of coffee he has managed to concoct in the past few days, and he taps aimlessly on one of his tablets. He's planning to travel to LA by means of the suit, but he wants to enjoy just one more day in this security before partaking in a journey that could potentially result in his death. Although, not having any social interaction soon could also result in his death.

Tony sighs, remembering the days where he received so much human contact it annoyed him. Now there's no one to talk to except his sarcastic ass of an AI. "JARVIS, any news today? From anywhere?"

"Nothing besides threats of your imminent destruction, sir."

He finishes the coffee, preparing for another day of building, before-

"Sir, there appear to be oncoming intruders."

"What? Who? Are they survivors?"

JARVIS is silent for a moment. "Three humans and one other life form that I cannot analyze. It appears to be an angel, after cross-referencing it with previously broadcasted pictures of Gabriel."

Tony doesn't need any more information, because at that moment, a loud thud echoes through the room. He runs through to the back of the house, nearly tripping over his favorite glass coffee table, suit slightly out-of-place and unbuttoned near the collar. Thoughts are whirling through his head like a storm he can't tame. Unfogging every glass pane, he mumbles, "It's too early in the morning for this."

As soon as it's visible, things seem to move in slow motion. Upon first glance, Tony sees a man, a little younger than himself, holding a shotgun up although he seems like he really doesn't want to. Behind him stand a young girl with glowing red hands and a nervous looking guy with big pants. And Tony does a double take, because he _knows_ these people. Clint Barton the agent? Wanda Maximoff and Bruce Banner from the Enhanced Humans Department?

What the fuck?

And then Tony follows the sightline of the pistol to the left, and stops short. An angel stands there, looking beautifully oblivious, clad in armor that Tony mentally notes to be looking Greek, or Roman. Leather gloves saddle his hands up to the elbows, and this one looks like he's just popped out of a children's bible: blue eyes, blonde hair, pale skin, and wings stark white. As he watches, Hawkeye pulls the trigger (it looks like he mouths, 'Sorry,' right before doing it, but who can tell).

The gun jerks, the angel falls.

Barton drops the weapon, and all three of them run away right back around to where they came from. Tony stands there for a few moments, saying, "Well, shit," until he realizes the poor angel outside is whimpering and curling in on himself. As his wings coil and unfurl almost involuntarily, Tony glimpses alarming shades of crimson in between the white. He curses halfheartedly. Going outside would be risky, even if it made the house visible for just a few seconds, but on the other hand, Tony can't just leave an angel outside to fucking die. That's morally fucked up. Then again, the angels coming down to Earth to kill humans in the first place are morally fucked up, too.

"Fuck it," he says out loud, and JARVIS makes no comment as he enters the break code to open the doors.

Upon stepping out, Tony fights the urge to stop and take the first breath of fresh air he's had in months, and instead hurries over to the fallen angel. Up close, he realizes its wings aren't fully white, but tipped in red and blue. He bites back a disbelieving remark.

The angel is looking at him with surprise over the pain. Tony realizes he must have almost looked like he was stepping out of thin air before the mansion built itself out of nowhere too, but as he lays a hand on his arm, he doesn't flinch away, to Tony's surprise. "I'm not going to hurt you. What's your name?"

"Stephan," he says, and his voice is hoarse. "There's something in me."

"I know. A bullet," Tony replies, shifting closer, "And I can help you. But I gotta take you inside the safe house."

He's surprised at his own offer, but even more surprised as the angel nods. Tony blinks in disbelief (he is talking to a fucking angel right now) and looks around as the gears start to whir in his head. Every angel he's come across since Gabriel, male or female, is about six feet in height, relatively speaking- the average male human height. He won't be able to carry him.

"I'm going to be right back," Tony assures him, "Hang on, Steph- Steve. Can I call you Steve?"

When he comes back outside in the suit, Steve looks alarmed and attempts to push himself up, one wing lying limply over his left arm. Hastily, Tony lifts the faceplate up as he draws nearer. "Hey, it's okay- still me. Stay still. I'm going to carry you inside."

"Steve" doesn't fight it. Iron Man flips the faceplate back down and gently slides his hands under him, taking care not to disturb the wings, and transfers all (estimated) two hundred pounds of muscle into his arms, immediately activating the sensors to get his manor off the radar as soon as they step inside. He quickly strips out of the suit and gets to work on the angel, desperately recalling everything medical he knows and furtively wondering whether anything will even work on him. Steve is slipping in and out of consciousness, eyes fluttering closed only to open again, hazy.

Tony administers a double dose of anesthesia, dimming the lights and fogging every window up again.

* * *

Later, after Tony has successfully removed the shots and bandaged the wound as best as he can, he watches the angel absentmindedly. Steve lays on his side facing away from him, knocked out, one wing bent in an angle that looks lazy more than injured. It reminds him of a dog with one floppy ear, and makes him smile in amusement. Turning away, he addresses JARVIS on more serious matters. "J, pull up any recent reports on Hawkeye, Hulk, and Scarlet Witch for me."

Immediately, holograms screens of S.H.I.E.L.D reports slide up around him, some still being updated at the moment, so that Tony has to make a 360 on his chair to skim every file. Frowning as he turns back to his original position, Tony asks, "Anything on their involvement with angels?" because their news is mostly the same as everyone's- on the run from the angels, yet searching for a solution to the apocalypse. _Shooting the enemy is not a solution, in this case._

They should _know_ that.

"Nothing of importance found, sir."

Tony makes a frustrated noise. "That doesn't make any damn sense... They wouldn't hurt an angel. I sent them direct orders not to, unless as a last resort. And this clearly wasn't, so..."

"Perhaps a greater force is controlling them, sir. Their behavior was highly erratic."

"Who is that?" Tony spins around at the frightened voice, holograms disappearing. Steve is half-sitting up, looking at him. _Angel's awake._

"Had a good rest?" He asks, but doesn't wait for an answer. "Just my robot. He's not a human. There's nobody here except for me. J, say hi."

"Greetings, angel."

"He's built into the house itself. Controls it, basically," Tony explains, frowning in dismay as he realizes Steve's stitches are probably on the verge of ripping. "Lie back down; you're going to break your stitches."

Steve obeys reluctantly, but faces the other man this time. Sitting back down, Tony examines his wings further. "Your wing colors are the colors of my country, you know. How's that for ironic?" 

No reply. He might not know what "ironic" or "country" even means. Tony continues, "So, why aren't you, like, trying to kill me? Your friends are kind of destroying my planet right now."

"I'm not going to kill you. I haven't killed anyone," Steve tells him, and his eyes are all over the place. "I don't..."

"Do you know why they were after you? The people who shot you?"

"No. I didn't want to come down, but I didn't have a choice." He opens his mouth to say something else, but hesitates before deciding to explain. "Now I'm... locked out until He opens the gates again."

"Come down. As in... from Heaven?"

Steve tilts his head and nods. Tony goes, "Damn," and leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. The thought hits him then: it's real. This is _real_. These fucking angels are from Heaven, and it's literally too much to process. Outside, the sun is shining, sky blue, and there is an actual, real servant of God lying in a makeshift cot in his house right now. Every glass wall seems to close on him, and he feels like he needs to hold on to the nearest modern furnishing for balance, even though he's already sitting.

"This is going to be a long week, Steve," he sighs, and he doesn't hear a protest to the nickname.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating every Sunday or earlier from now on. Bookmark for more!


	3. shaky foundations of belief we try to see in each other, of quaking views and small rewinds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tony being a little shit, and then tony being a major shit, but then tony being a sad shit. enjoy

Needless to say, Stephan is confused. He's hit with power never felt before, conjured by the impulsive commands of his brethren Gabriel himself, before crashing down into an unfamiliar world. The territory is unbelievably different from His, rough and brutal, raw nature between his fingertips and scalding warmth beating down on him. Stephan sees his sisters and brothers laying waste to the humans and wants to stop them, but none of them would listen to a low ranking angel like him. It's futile. Yet, he can't bear to watch.

Then in a matter of days, he's hunted down by cruel beings with machinery gripped in their hands, bodies equipped with technology. He doesn't realize the danger until it's too late. Stephan runs, frightened and bewildered, until the three are looming in front of him in a deserted forest. There's a sudden, flashing pain burning into his lower torso, so quick he doesn't know what happened. All he knows is that there is something lodged into his body and it's not supposed to be there.

To make things even stranger, another human appears out of nowhere- literally nowhere- with an entire mansion configuring out of thin air, too. Things move so fast. But he looks friendly, and statuesque, like what Stephan is used to above. He tells the stranger, "There's something inside me," and the man replies that it's a bullet. _Bullet_. The word sounds strange in his mind, menacing and short.

But he finds that he can't really think well because the bullet hurts so much, but the man promises to help him. Then he's gone and a strange new machine of sleek golden and red comes out to replace him, and Stephan is scared, but inside is the man. He's inside and everything looks hazy, but then there's a sharp pain and something clear covering his mouth and nothing but darkness.

Now he's awake in the early morning. The guy calls him _Steve_ , which he rather likes, because it sounds different and shorter, but not in a clipped way, like _bullet._ Steve can't stop staring because he looks so familiar.

"I've seen you before," The angel says, trying to gesture with nimble fingers, "in a"- he can't find the word for it-

"Magazine?" He looks tired, waiting at some kind of machine that's spurting out steaming dark brown liquid. "Pamphlet? Billboard? I'm famous, to put it shortly."

"Magazine," Steve sits up. "It said 'Tony Stark' and your face was on the cover."

"Tony Stark," he says. "That's me."

Tony is leaning on the counter, dressed only in pajama bottoms, gripping the handle of a cup while waiting impatiently for it to fill. Steve stares at the fine angles and planes of his chest, the weird beard/goatee thing, every chiseled cut of his face. It reminds him of home, for some reason. Beauty has always stood out for Steve, like a wildflower against dead dirt. "Enjoying the view?"

"Yes," Steve answers, unsure about the smirk on the other man's face. Tony smiles into his coffee, and Steve gets the impression that he didn't quite understand the question completely.

"Okay, here's the plan for today," he sits down, talking more to himself than the other man, across from the bed Steve is atop of, entangled in sheets and bandages. "I call my friends up east to tell them about the delay, I call other friends all around the world to scour out the whereabouts of the guys that attacked you, and then... I study you."

"Me? Why?"

"Angels were... very rare on Earth before you came, if you didn't know." Tony looks lost in thought. "I know... really nothing about you. Honestly, I need info on you, as a specimen, and where exactly you came from. Also, the armor. It might help humanity as I know it or help me come up with a solution to this whole apocalypse thing."

A few minutes later, Tony has Pepper hooked on the phone. "Yeah, I'm sorry, I'm going to have to come sometime in the next months or so... No, just, something happened... I can't- it's kind of confidential-"

Loud, muffled jabber through the speaker. "Fine. Fine." Pause. Tony turns away even though they both know Steve's eavesdropping. "I kind of rescued an angel."

Then Tony is chattering with a dozen mystery people over the phone in quick succession, acquaintances and old friends and uptight government officials he doesn't seem to like at all. He laughs and cracks good-natured jokes with surprising ease, skirting the edge of annoying but staying in neutral territory as he prods deeper into whatever informational topic he needs. It's almost an art form. The poor fellows don't even know what they're getting into as they answer Tony's questions willingly.

_"Of course, of course- always the joker, Ross... Yeah, so, those files you mentioned?"_

_"If you don't reveal those top secret S.H.I.E.L.D reports, Hill, I'll just have to take it up with your boss... or even better, just hack into your servers- Wait, what do you mean it's not on there?"_

_"Coulson, I can't meet with you somewhere private, we're in the midst of an apocalypse, for fuck's sake_ ," he clamors into the phone. " _My line's secure, don't worry."_

Pause.

_"Of course I'm sure. I'm a genius. What, you think I don't safe-check every call and imploy virus spreading, self destructive traps on my line against hackers?"_

Longer pause.

"Unexpected," Tony mutters, and then hangs up. He looks at Steve, who's taken to standing up and stumbling all over the house, taking in his surroundings. Everything from the priceless Caravaggio hung up on the far wall to Tony's favorite ballpoint pen has been handled with utmost care and delicate examination. "The heroes who attacked you weren't compromised."

"Compromised?"

"Possessed. Made evil. Controll-ified. It's happened before. Anyway, but since, they weren't, that means they did that of their own will, which leads to the only possible reasoning being..."

Steve waits, and wonders if this is a dramatic pause, because Tony seems to be fond of those. 

"A) Someone or something valuable is being held against them, B) They mistook you as an evil angel due to miscommunication and the fact that, like, all of your friends are evil, C) They've gone rogue, or D)," Tony finishes, "You actually are evil."

Fumbling, Steve drops the ballpoint pen. Tony mutters, "Option D is eliminated, no question."

Later in the day, Tony is still delving further into research, surrounded by more holograms and papers, while Steve stands wonderingly beside him. They make quite the duo. But something's always nagging at the angel, like a consistent ache- a longing for home, a longing for his old armor, but at the same time, a perplexing attraction to the lean figure in front of him. It's like- a magnetic force, drawing him closer, out of his control. Steve trusts him like he's never trusted anyone before, and it's too quick and confusing.

Steve believes it as an effect of his landing on Earth: clinginess to the first human he meets, latching on to the first person that's friendly to him. Suddenly, Tony's voice jars him out of his thoughts. "Nothing... absolutely nothing on them..."

"Why don't you try calling them?" he suggests distractedly, and regrets it immediately. Tony stares, and Steve feels like the stupidest thing that's ever set foot on anything.

"Sorry- that's obvious-" he backtracks, but the other man cuts in, "You're a goddamned genius. Spent the whole day hacking into confidential updates and I didn't even try _calling_ them."

After Steve gets over his initial surprise, he hides a proud grin. Tony spins around. "I've just started running a data protectant over my tech, and it'll be ready in a few so I can try and contact Barton. In the meantime, let me _study_ you."

"Okay," he replies, suddenly feeling awkward and self-conscious. There's nothing special about himself as far as he can tell, but Tony seems to think otherwise. The billionaire approaches, looking professional yet personal in a three piece Armani suit, and reaches out with a hand, looking up as if asking for permission. Steve nods uncertainly, and then there's a hand running through his wings, feeling every feather of the downy plumage.

His eyelids flutter, drooping. No one has touched his wings in a very long time, and especially not in this human form, but it feels just as intimate and pleasurable as he's always known it to be. He almost falls over as Tony gently presses on a tense muscle, tracing tendons through them. Steve looks up, embarrassed, to meet a sly grin. "Wings are an off-button, I see."

The angel should feel frightened at the discovery of a weakness, but for some reason, he doesn't. It almost feels like a relief to unburden it, and besides, Tony probably would've found out anyway. Giving his wings a soft pat, he continues, "They're definitely a part of your nervous system, then- an especially complex part... You can control them, too, can't you?"

Steve ruffles his left wing in response. Carefully, Tony strokes the lower tips of one wing where color begins to seep in through the white, entwining through stark ivory. "I never would've thought angels to have different colored wings. Something out of a movie, if you ask me."

"Even I don't know what the colors mean-" Steve begins, but falters when Tony hits a particularly sensitive spot on the underside of one pinion; this time, he can't restrain the slight shudder of pleasure. But Tony seems to mistake it for something else, and immediately pulls his hand away. The angel wants to tell him not to, that it's alright, but his mouth goes dry.

"Tell me... any other mystical powers? Besides fighting?" Tony laughs, but his voice is husky and coarse, unfamiliar.

"I've seen- I've seen the other angels... tap into humans' minds, kind of, during combat. The pleasure centers of the brain, literally," Steve breathes uncertainly. "I haven't tried it before, though. Not sure if I have the power to do it in the first place."

"Try it on me," comes the immediate suggestion.

"No. I- I can't. No. Never. What if I kill you?"

"I trust you."

Steve's mouth is so, so _dry._

"Please. For research," Tony explains, as if it justifies anything, and then adds, "I trust you."

Something in the angel's body screams for him to do it, to try it out and unlock potential power, but his conscience knows it's wrong. He would never endanger an innocent life so carelessly and willingly, because it's just not in him. He says with as enough force he can muster for the time being, "No."

Then Steve looks up to find Tony swinging around, reaching for a gun- _when did that get there_ \- that's not like any he's ever seen before, and he's pointing it- rotating it- towards him, the mouth aiming at his chest, and Steve panics from the last time he was shot, the burning, he doesn't want it to happen againdoesn't _want it_ _tohappenagaindoesn't_ want it-

_"My son," Howard Stark announces elatedly, "Is a force to be reckoned with."_

_Along the edges of a vast glass conference table, faceless men in black and white suits cheer, raising delicate glasses of champagne and flashing golden cufflinks up towards the sky. Moonlight seeps through every open window as nighttime settles quietly outside, stars sparkling enthusiastically above the New York City skyline._

_"I'm so proud of you," Maria Stark whispers, eyes brimming with tears as she clutches one familiar hand with two of hers. Tony Stark is sitting beside her, grinning, celebrating, love evident in his young eyes. A beautiful blonde woman, clad in layers of blood red, perches to his left with one hand on his arm, adoration clear in her gaze._

_"You too, Pep?" he asks. Pepper kisses him on the mouth, wedding ring flashing in the dim light as her fingers carress his face. She says firmly, "Of course, Tony. Of course. I love you so much."_

_"I love you more," Tony smiles, gripping their entwined hands together. He turns to his father._

_"You've done me proud," Howard claps Tony hard on the back. "Proud as can be."_

_"All I ever wanted, Pops," he replies, and the happiness he's struggling to rein in his expression is so obvious. "I love you, dad. Mom."_

_"We love you," Maria smiles gently, and the three are huddled together like the tight-knit family they are. Around them, men and women mingle light-heartedly, without a care in the world, and New York softly bustles along beneath them._

_Howard adds, "Of course. Always have," and Tony beams like it's the best present in the world._

Steve finds himself sprawled on the floor, abdomen sore from straining his wound, head dizzying and shocked and disbelieving. He looks up to find Tony drop the weapon, tear tracks down his cheeks, looking utterly lost and hopeless as if something invaluable had escaped him, something that he reached so far out for but only grazed with his fingertips before it disappeared.

Immediately forgetting his initial anger at Tony for triggering his power on purpose, Steve reaches out without thinking and soon the human is in his arms, trembling but safe. He doesn't completely understand the scene, but he can understand it's a tragedy. "Where are they now? Your parents?"

"Dead," comes the barely audible reply. Something in Steve's heart clenches. "Gone. Twenty-five years ago in a car accident."

He hugs Tony tighter, and feels a warm face burrow into the crook of his neck. They stay like that for seconds before a beep resounds near the open lab, a computerized female voice announcing, "Data safeguard procured. Process 100% complete."

Tony jumps out of his grasp, as if remembering where he is, and makes his way over to the machinery like a dead man, shuffling with distracted steps. "At least now we know your mystical abilities work," he croaks in a rough voice, before doubling over in pain, holding a hand to his forehead.

"Tony?" Steve stands abruptly.

The other man promptly falls to the ground, and he can't get there quickly enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to clarify, steve is not drawn to tony because of their magical togetherness. they're attracted to each other because of angel-universe-mythical reasons, which will be further explained later on. (i don't know what i'm talking about.)


	4. just an unimportant piece in the timeline boost, boost forward

Tony wakes up to a very close, very worried Steve leaning perilously over him, and tries to blink the fuzziness away. Groaning, he attempts to sit up, but plops back down due to the increasing ache in his head, and then moans even _more_ because the ground is hard. "I can't."

"I can't," he repeats, and feels tentative fingers checking his face. "What the hell happened?"

"I think my... _invasion_ of your brain took a toll," comes the quiet reply. "I was forcing your brain cells into transwiring fake memories, after all."

A long pause. Then- "I'm sorry," and Steve can just tell how hard it was to muster even that, how hard it is for Tony to put aside his pride, even if just for a damn second, to admit he's in the wrong. The act is appreciated.

Tony sits up as his vision goes steady again, absentmindedly staring out the windows. The sun is setting now, a semicircle of yellow disappearing below the horizon, followed by streaks of pinks and oranges. He wants to sit there forever, angel beside him, staring at the poetry of it.

 _But nothing good lasts._ "I need- I need to-" he gets up unsteadily, and the other man can't help but reach out "-to call them. Clint, and the others."

He more then turns his back on Steve, hastily reaching for his wires and comm pieces, rolling around the solid, comforting devices between his fingers. It takes only seconds to hook up to the systems now, and to nobody's real surprise, the call is answered.

"Tony?" A familiar voice rings through the line, high-strung and nervous. "Oh, thank God, I-"

"Bruce, even with my tech, we still only have a few minutes. What's the haps?"

There's some shuffling, and then another voice replaces that one. "Stark. You will not believe the holy hell these angels are bringing down on us-" (some scuffling and cursing) "-Can you believe that, by the way? Angels? Aren't those supposed to be, like, protecting us?"

"Tell it to the big guy," Tony scoffs. "Is one chasing you guys right now? Where are you? Do you need me to swoop in and rescue you damsels in distress?"

"We're fine, thanks," drawls Wanda in the background, her prominent accent marking every sharp consonant and twisting vowels in her words.

"What she means is- we're almost at the safe base in Los Angeles," Clint comes on again.

Tony plops down in his beloved plush rolly chair, swinging around, before proceeding to furiously type coordinates and unlock the call to trace it. Sure enough, the three are detected heading towards Area 8 in southern California. How they've managed to trek across the country in such short time is beyond his imagination, but with their combined capabilities, it might be possible... maybe. A question still nags at the back of his mind, though, and he doesn't know how to bring it up. "So why did you... like, you know, try to kill an angel?"

There's a very long pause. _"What?"_

"Jog any memory? You three miraculously appeared in front of my safe house, Barton fired, got one down... who, by the way, is currently in my possession?" There's still deafening noise in the background, explosions and fighting, but it doesn't seem as chaotic anymore.

Clint goes incredulously, "Your safehouse in _Miami?"_

"We've been along the Pacific Coast ever since this entire thing started," Bruce assures into the phone. "Are you sure it was us? Because..."

Tony stands up. _They were never here._

Steve's mouth dips in bewilderment at the impossible claim, and the billionaire realizes he's spoken out loud. He repeats, "Because they were never here. _Of course_ it's not possible- I haven't been able to travel to L.A in months, how would they do it in a week? But then..."

The unspoken question hangs heavily in the air. Tony tilts his head back to the phone, "Safe travel, guys... I'll figure this out. Pep and Rhodes are there right now too, meet up with them. Godspeed."

He hangs up abruptly, gears already whirring furiously in his head. "The things that shot you here had life forms, heat signatures. They were all still _beings_ \- just posing as other people."

Without thinking, Steve draws closer, cocking his head, an idea lingering on his tongue. He asks, "What were they?" even though the answer is obvious. In response, Tony looks him straight in the eyes and inquires, "Know any angels that can shapeshift?"

* * *

_Black, even darker than night, hiding._

_Hiding within the trees, within the leaves, within the flowers, within everything pure and generous, tainting its beauty and spoiling unblemished land like an ink blot catching on to paper. Like a fire catching onto forests without mercy or warning._

_Natalia feels the unnatural wind whip silently around her face, blowing scarlet hair behind her shoulders, and knows she's hopelessly outnumbered. But she holds her ground, wings spreading out in an act of defiance. The soft colors shine brightly against the nothingness like a cry of outrage, but soon it's swallowed whole by the darkness._

_She won't move. She's a strong angel, holding steady ground, standing unflinchingly against the approaching spirits._

_"Why settle to this planet?" Natalia cries to the mounting tornado, blowing apart everything in its path, and watches as two great eyes appear, blood red. Inside them, she sees visions of men dying, waging war against each other, burning by pits of fires and entire civilizations being destroyed and destructed._

_"We rise where you rise," The voice rumbles, and it sounds sinister, like the sound of two blades scraping against each other. "We leave where you leave, destroy where you destroy. For I am cursed to follow my traitors for eternity, and I will defeat both the mankind of this world and the angels on it."_

_"You are too evil, too dark," she spits back, fury burning like an unfamiliar pit in her stomach. "If you do claim victory, Earth will be crushed under your wicked weight, and my kind with it. There will be nothing left for you to salavage. No spoils of war."_

_It seems to swirl up around her, drawing ever so nearer. "My followers scavenge, yet I have no need to pull from the ruins of this land. I wreak havoc wherever I travel, and an irresistible hunger takes ahold of me."_

_"You will not win," as she's choked, restrained, blinded by what she cannot see, "You cannot win, for He is watching, and He aids."_

_An angry cry of battle, a guttural roar, and then she disappears as quickly as she came, fluid like saltwater._

* * *

"Great. Just great. That's exactly what we needed," Tony grumbles. "Angels _and_ demons on Earth. That's convenient."

"I've never seen one before," confesses Steve.

"So, is it a three-way war now, or just angels versus demons while humans lumber around in the way? Or would you guys team up with us to take out evil, since, you know, Satan is the common enemy."

An uneasy feeling lodges in the angel's gut. "Don't say it."

"What?"

"The name," he furrows his brow, "Names have a lot of power."

"That so, _Stephan?"_

Steve smiles grudgingly, and then turns so he's completely facing the other man. "Tony, I'm sorry for prying, but... I have to know more about the vision, that I... triggered."

Tony tenses, but nods perceptibly, and Steve continues, "That never happened, right?"

"Nope. And never would've, even if they were alive."

"The woman in it," he inquires carefully. "Pepper. She's at the safe house in California, right? She's still alive."

Another nod. Steve concludes, "So then angels can show someone's... greatest desires, I guess. Their fantasies. With people and elements that could be dead or alive or nonexistent, anything."

"But using fragments of the person's own memories," Tony interrupts. "Kind of like a mismatched puzzle."

"But- you said none of it happened."

"It did. I had a conference dinner just like that last year in Stark Tower, in New York. I remember my mother saying that to me, but when I was younger, someplace else. The stuff Howard said was actually said too, just by someone else. And Pepper and I were going to get married, once. She wore my wedding ring."

The angel has so many questions, but they're too personal and private and he really doesn't want the other man upset. He hates how Tony looks as if on the verge of crying, but how his words are so nonchalant you could've almost thought him cheerful if you weren't looking at him.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" Tony asks, and it comes out harshly, but Steve doesn't blame him.

"Everything," he says simply.

A moment passes, and he knows he's somehow made it through, because Tony's eyes seem to uncloud and he looks tentatively at him. "You can't walk around shirtless all day, can you? I made some upgrades to your armor. Try it on."

With that, he mutters a few words to JARVIS, and then a folded uniform is clutched in one hand. He opens it up to display the whole thing, and smiles a toothy grin. It's been- modernized, to put it lightly, and the previous ripped olive green of fabric has been layered with something tighter and sleek (on closer examination, there appear to be microscopic scales.) There's a bulky belt around the middle, and the entire thing has armored plates in specific soft spots.

But the best part is the paint job.

"It matches my wings," Steve can only say, because it's stark blue with red and white stripes running up the midsection. A silver star is emblazoned directly in the middle of the chest.

"It's just a prototype, don't worry," Tony looks to be trying not to laugh. "I'll change the color scheme back to the original with the new version."

"No, I like it," he replies, because he really does. The red, white, and blue are pops of color, like spirit against a world that's fiery morale is dying out. He doesn't have any clue as to when or how Tony worked on it, but it sure paid off. "Thank you."

The other man actually looks surprised, as if no one's thanked him for his work before. "Try it on."

So Steve goes into the bathroom and does. He likes it. It does hug his body quite snugly, but he can feel how much more powerful it is now, every stitch rippling against his skin as he moves. It's easy to move around in, thus making it convenient to grab weapons during battle, and the leather gloves are still there. A hood is affixed to the back, and hilariously, it's got a little wing dangling off of each side of the head.

He comes back out and Tony wolf-whistles. "You're sure as hell ready for battle."

"What's with the hood?"

Another grin. "In case you want to... remain inconspicuous."

They both glance at the star-spangled outfit and snicker. But Steve does feel "ready for battle"; he flexes his arms, clenching and unclenching his fists. "So where are we going from here?"

"We'll leave when your bullet wound completely heals up," Tony informs him. "Then... I'm not sure. The ideal destination is L.A, where a lot of helpful people currently reside, but it's across the country. There's my tower in New York, but according to JARVIS, that's a damn beacon in the middle of a big radius of destruction, and there might be bloodthirsty angels prowling around the whole area."

"Either way, we'll have to fight."

"Damn right," comes the reply. Steve looks down at his armor, unrecognizable from the original tatters he brought down, and feels that something is missing.

"A weapon," he turns to Stark. "I need something to carry. Anything. To use to fight."

Tony seems to understand and makes a mental note to himself to remember.

The next day, a rounded object is sitting innocently beside Steve when he awakes. It's striped with red, silver, and blue rings, with another star in the middle, just like his new armor. He traces each clean edge of the décor, running an affectionate thumb around the sharp rim, grsasping it up by the strap only to realize that it's a shield.

He wields it, and feels somewhat complete.


	5. interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new characters :))

_He dreams of roaring oceans, sea salt spraying against his body in tune with the wind. Waves lap eagerly around his feet, toes grazing the surface of icy water, foam subsiding within streaks of cerulean to turquoise. An occasional seagull soars by overhead, but it doesn't seem real, only a shadow, an echo, of something real, as if the only thing alive that exists is himself._

_Looking down, he sees outer space reflected in the depths of each ripple, a mirror of both blues, deep and inviting. He wants to fall into it, remain there forever._

* * *

"Wake up," someone is shouting, frantically shaking him, _"Jesus,_ Steve, wake up!"

The angel is roused with a start, nearly bashing Tony in the head as he shoots upright in bed. "I- What's wrong? Did something happen?"

Every wall of the mansion shakes, and a rumble resounds through it, maybe from outside, maybe from the ground itself. Steve's question is pretty much answered, but he's still terrified, looking to Tony to make sure he's okay, but all he receives in return is a funny look. "What were you dreaming about?"

He can't believe he's being asked this right now. "Oceans," Steve replies, and scrambles out of the sheets just as he hears a thud and what sounds dangerously like a battle cry. "What's going on?"

"We need to get out of here," Tony nearly yells over the noise. It's too fucking dark, he thinks, as he raises a repulsor in front of them for defense. He'd bark orders for JARVIS to light it up, but the power has been cut, and there's no point to running around flipping switches. They need to leave, right now.

"What happened?"

"Remember when I stepped outside the house to fetch you?" A glint of gold and emotionless plated eyes flash in the dark, and Steve is terrified before reminding himself of the friendly, living human inside. Mechanical fingers are opened to him, whirring inaudible in the noise. "Well, I'm guessing some angels have found our coordinates by chance. Unless you can talk some sense into them, we're leaving. Come on."

Another bang, and something seems to shatter. Iron Man retracts his hand. "Put on the suit."

The angel complies as quickly as possible, grasping his shield (he practiced all day, he has to be ready). Steve takes ahold of the cold, metal fingers, but Tony pauses in the midst. "Wait," he coughs (where did the smoke come from?) and grabs something from a table nearby. "Camoflaugers, like the ones over this house, but much weaker. Attach them to your wings."

Steve doesn't question it, and when he looks back again, his wings are no longer visible. Tony leads them both through the house- how, he doesn't know- to some obscure back exit, and then the two of them are stumbling out into dirt and grass they haven't touched in a while. It's still dark outside, but everything is illuminated by moonlight to an extent.

"Are you okay?" he asks, because Tony is having a coughing fit, tightly holding on to a few backpacks (emergency supplies, probably). Steve nervously presses a hand to his back out of habit, but Tony only tenses and pulls away. When he recovers, his eyes go wide, staring at something behind him.

The angel turns as a sinister figure seems to emerge from the smoke- or mist?- with grace like that of a slinking cat. He's tall and wiry, features delicate but sharp- his frame looks fragile, but somehow, the deception of it is obvious. Ink black hair is swept back from winter pale skin, blue-green eyes analyzing and calculating them with a cold demeanor. Tony notices his armor is almost like Steve's old uniform, but there's something off about it. Something eerie.

"Lokasenna," Steve breathes disbelievingly, looking up in awe at the towering figure. He doesn't _know_ him, per say, but from all the war stories and bloody victories he's been told, he feels like he does. The name is uttered ever so quietly, but Tony and the mystery angel both catch wind of it.

"You dare address me, human?" His eyes flash menacingly.

"I'm not-" Steve is about to protest when he remembers he can't be anything but human now, because... no wings.

The visitor pauses then, eyeing Steve suspiciously, before fixing Tony with something like satisfaction. "I am Loki, of the First Division under His Order, Angel of Trickery, Chaos, and Fire."

Something blazes in the distance.

"Yield to my strength or face certain death."

"Not very welcoming, are you," Tony says, and then there's a huge noise behind Loki, like a heavy weight landing. Another warrior steps out of the shadows, this one much bulkier and muscled, golden hair curling down to his shoulders. In one hand, he wields a colossal hammer carved with intricate drawings of long finished battles and soldiers. As friendly as he looks, by the way both are radiating immense power, neither of them could really pass for human.

"Brother," he calls out in a deep voice, "Why is our legion destroying this acre? This is not what we came here to start."

"Thor, believe my luck upon finding these two," Loki chuckles, completely ignoring the concern. "They emit a kind of... particular aura, do they not?"

Thor glances down at them, exchanges a knowing look with his brother, and notices the shield, flipped upside down and only revealing a curving circle of silver. "What is this strange mechanism?" he inquires, and picks it up curiously. Steve feels a twinge of protectiveness as it's taken, desperately wishing for his fingers to touch the cool vibranium again.

Swiftly, Loki turns it over and laughs at the design. He holds it out mockingly. "What will this pathetic disc do against our sacred weapons?" and then the shield falls, but never reaches the ground.

"Hell of a lot," Tony mutters, somehow having already hoisted both backpacks onto his shoulders, and turns to Steve. "Run," he says, and they're exploding out of the dry grass, sending dirt flying everywhere as someone yells furiously and the clank of armor plates reach their ears.  Blindly, Steve lifts up the shield and feels something forcefully pounded into it, almost knocking him off his feet.

Looking back, he sees a docile Thor and cursing Loki, holding his staff up in a frustrated manner before they're enveloped by white, gray, white. They travel to the outer edge of a thick forest nearby, collapsing in a relatively open patch of leaves.

"You saved my life," Steve turns, gaping.

"Yeah, just realized that now?" Tony lies heavily against the trunk of a great oak, suit without a scratch. His face is pale, chest heaving. "Your bullet wound seems to have completely disappeared. So angels can heal pretty damn fast, or...?"

"No," he pants in reply, "Just now."

"I think I missed it."

"Loki... Loki brought down his scepter on me, but I- I deflected it. With the shield."

A pause. "I could've died," Steve whispers, "But the shield. So- so thanks."

Tony exhales and looks at him, long and hard. "That wasn't me," he breathes into the night air, "It was the shield. Your shield."

They can hardly see each other, even from such a close proximity, and it's probable that the mist is magical. Maybe Loki-induced. Carefully, Tony kicks a bag to the other man and shifts carefully in his spot.

"Use with caution," he continues, and Steve holds onto the red, white, and blue a little tighter.


	6. interlude pt. 2

"What the fuck was that?" Tony inquires eloquently, gasping for breath under the twisting branches of a half-dead tree, shuddering in the cool autumn air. He's sprawled out against the rough bark, lazily reaching for a compacted jacket in his knapsack. "What the fuck was that? You know em, Steve? 'Cause they don't seem to know you."

"They're bigger than I thought," the man in question murmurs. Sweat matts every yellow lock onto his forehead.

"That's what she said."

"What?"

"Nothing. Nevermind," The suit has since melted off Tony's body in a blinding flash of red and gold, folding in on itself into a suitcase that lays safely by his side. "No, but, seriously, Thor and Loki? Aren't those... Norse gods?"

For some reason, Steve feels sheepish and rubs the back of his neck apologetically. "They're actually angels. The Norse god thing is... just a myth."

"Why don't they have wings?"

"They're high-ranking. Like Loki said, First Division."

"Those angels seemed pretty evil. Like, _evil_ evil."

Dawn is approaching, the sun crawling its way towards them with bleeding fingers of color. The strange fog has lifted, and Tony calculates that they must be miles away from the safehouse by now. At the moment, the only thing visibly left of it is rising smoke, and every angel unleashing hell (hahah) upon it has disappeared with the night.

He feels damp soil under his fingertips, and knows the humidity is causing his hair to curl onto his forehead, which would explain the funny look Steve's been giving him ever since he took off the helmet. Suddenly, Tony stands, almost falling over due to the fact that his legs are still shaky from this near holy death experience, and Steve realizes just how exhausted the man's got to be.

"We," Tony declares, "are taking a road trip."

"To California?"

"To California."

Something howls in the distance.

He continues, "Steve, we may die on this trip. Considering my power, influence, intelligence, charm, and your armor, made thanks to my skills, this will be unlikely. However, there's a small chance. But there's an even bigger chance of surviving if you're with me, so, are you with me, Steve?"

"To the end of the line," he agrees. "Now, is that the only reason you want me along?"

"Well, I guess I can admit," Tony raises an eyebrow, "you are good company, at times."

Steve smiles, and he's been told (by someone specifically, cough) that his smiles are icky, blinding, and have a tendency to drip with righteousness. He doesn't care, though, he'll smile if someone needs a smile.

Tony does so back. "We are leaving immediately."

Steve sits up, surprised, before Tony adds, "After some well earned beauty rest."


	7. sinking in cold water, unnoticed, i'll pull you back out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tony might've stolen the car

They take a car. An actual, real, goddamn _car_ , because a highly weaponized and resplendent flying suit of armor, as well as a six foot man with wings in a spandex outfit, are too conspicuous. Against the onslaught of destruction, an expensive Italian sports car zips between tumbled buildings at steady speeds over two hundred miles an hour.

It's noon, the sun blazing at its highest peak in the sky, when this mentioned car nearly happens to run an angel over.

Tony is barely focusing on the wheel, mind lost in thought, only subconsciously watching the endless stretch of dusty road disappearing beneath them but reaching out in front, forever. They must be halfway across Florida by now, destination in mind a deserted airport. The closest building nearby is a Burger King, and then there are only vivid palm trees and peculiar plant life.

But he definitely notices when the air ahead of them warps, unnaturally, and then almost crackles with a harsh intensity. The view distorts, as if it were a painting being crumpled by an invisible hand, before violently bouncing back to normal. It seems as if it spits out something onto the ground, and Tony peers above his sunglasses to see a figure standing in the middle of the highway, dazed but definitely fine otherwise.

"Jesus F. Christ," he yelps before slamming down on the brakes as hard as he possibly can, and Steve is thrown forward by the lurch, but regains balance fairly quickly. Tony exhales, leaning his head back on the leather seats, eyes closed and muttering curses.

"What was that?" Steve looks, then- _really_ looks- at their obstacle, and gapes. "Natalia?"

At his obvious recognition, Tony looks down again, only to find a sudden angel appearing at the side of his vehicle. She's startlingly beautiful, and familiar. "Oh my God," he whips his sunglasses off, "I've seen you before. Outside my house in Miami." It's the first one he ever saw up close, and she still has the same shimmering wings.

She frowns. He continues, "It was invisible. Basically, I was stalking you."

"I remember," she tells him, and there's a strange lilt to her words that sounds harsh, cold, yet alluring in its own way. "I sensed something there... It was... nevermind."

Natalia shakes her head dismissively and turns to Steve. "Stephan, I need to warn you. There is a darkness coming."

"Let me guess. Demons?" Tony interrupts, and if she's surprised at his knowing, she doesn't show it.

"Demons," the angel confirms. "Stephan, they don't want victory. Listen to me. They don't want to win. They only want to follow us and aid in our destruction, no matter the price."

Her eyes are a frightful green. "Even at the cost of their own people. The Devil commands them, and he may destroy them all as he pleases."

"Where were you?" Steve asks instead, and her expression softens, if only a fraction. She reaches out towards Tony and splays her fingers along the air right beneath his face, as if outlining it with her hands. She replies instead, "Who is this? Where are your wings?"

"That's- that's Tony Stark. Haven't you seen his face on any billboards, he's very famous-"

"He looks... like an angel."

Steve says, "I know," and they both stare intently. Tony shifts uncomfortably, under careful examination. "I'm flattered, but I'm pretty sure that's not possible. Might just be my good looks."

"An arrogant angel."

"Hey-"

"Listen very carefully," she mutters, "You must fight, Stephan. A war is rising, and there is already hatred between the High Brothers, Thor and Loki. Our kind is taking sides, gathering armies and weaponry. You must join the battle of the brethren, and I will see you in war."

"Hold on. He's not fighting," Tony interrupts. The angry look that Natalia sends his way radiates something that seems only a glimpse of her full power, and his stomach twinges with true fear. "He's injured. He was shot, I swear."

"It's healed now," Steve assures him (because clearly the angel cannot take a hint). "It was only metal, I'm alright."

"Well, good talk." Grimacing, Tony turns back to the wheel, trying not to look at the holy supernatural figure blazing in front of him. "We'll be going now."

Natalia thuds one of her wings against the car's headboard, and the colors ripple as every feather moves, like an actual time-lapsed sunset. Against his will, Tony is mesmerized, drinking in the ruffling shades of a progression in the night. "I will see you again, Stephan. Continue on your journey to safety."

"Wait-"

"Come," she interrupts, "when the war starts."

With that, she fades away quietly into the throbbing, silent heat, Steve still reaching after her and the mortal billionare snapping out of his hypnotic state. "What the- what the fuck was that?"

The sun has dropped a little lower in the sky, although it's still high and the boiling warmth is almost unbearable. "I don't know. I can't believe she left so soon. And the war..."

"Well, you heard your girlfriend," he successfully starts the car again, "We better get going."

"She's not- she's not my lover," Steve splutters, and he actually blushes. "I don't- I'm not-"

They're speeding up again. "Jesus fuck, who says _'lover'_ anymore? Who are you, Shakespeare?" Then- "Wait. Actually how old are you?"

"In... Earth years?" The pink tinge is fading now. "I don't know."

"Are you going to fight?" Tony asks, and his eyes are trained studiously on the road.

The angel looks down at his hands, and then at the other man. Will he fight? He doesn't have any experience, yet there's nothing else he could be useful for. "I guess. It's my calling, and... I don't know what else to do."

"You can't fight." Tony's knuckles seem a little tight on the wheel. He looks so serious, and usually Steve would tease him about it, but right now there's something scary about his tone. Like he's unsure. Uncertain. Afraid.

No reply.

"If you fight, what sides will we choose? What sides are there?"

"I won't betray you. I can't fight against you, Tony, you've done a lot much for me."

He finally looks over at him. "It's not always your choice, Steve. Besides, you've known me for, what, a month now? There are angels up there-  now down here- that you've known for, probably, several human lifetimes. You're telling me you'll fight with me but not them?"

Steve glances down again, and his mouth feels like it's full of cotton. "About that... I've got to tell you something."

"About your secret angel life? Please do."

"No- I- this is serious," he opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again. "I'm not... welcome at home."

"Your secret _rebel_ angel life? That's pretty fuckin-"

"I'm an outcast," Steve blurts out, and he knows his ears are red, he knows it. "Outsider, outcast, whatever. Father has never acknowledged me before. He is ashamed. He shows love, but He is ashamed."

"Of what? What did you do?"

"I... I like men."

He recoils, as if waiting for an outburst of disgust, and instead Tony furrows his brow in puzzlement. "What, so, you're gay? The Almighty Father doesn't like his gay son? This is a soap opera, I swear to- oh, right, names."

"You don't seem... surprised."

"No offense, Steve, but with that much spandex and the hair and the outer macho appearance... you're definitely gay." Tony informs him, and then proceeds to pull the car over to the side of the road. The angel looks at him in surprise.

"Natalia has stuck around even after she found out. I have maybe one or two allies, but most of them look down on me."

After they're parked, Tony shifts around completely in his seat to look at him. "This is planet Earth. The twenty-first century. Being anything other than straight is okay."

"Straight?"

"You know. Guy likes girl."

The car starts again. "Besides, I like both."

"Both- what? Both genders?" Steve's never thought of that. "Wow, that sounds interesting."

"It is," Tony winks, but the moment doesn't seem to be lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a _really_ slow build, promise the romance will hype soon


	8. oceans like tartarus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a piece of shit. i'm sorry for not updating in 2 weeks. instead of forcing myself to write a long crap chapter i'm just going to give you this shorter one so I can hopefully recover from my weird writer's block/laziness and come back strong next week. I suck. forgive me

_His toes skim the surface of dipping water._

_It swirls quietly beneath his feet, rippling outwards across the blue in gentle waves. It feels so cool and gentle, like a liquid breeze grazing every toe, that he looks down-_

_It swallows him whole._

_The ocean spirals around his body, tugging and battering and bruising, as the roar echoes in his ears. He can't breathe, or move, and every blink of his eyes is an ordeal, he can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't breathe-_

_It's so cold. It's so freezing he can't think about anything else but the pain, and the water leaves a strange acerbic taste in his mouth that keeps him choking. Then the water starts to harden, crackling into solid ice around him._

_He's trapped._

_He pushes with all his might but he's trapped-_

* * *

Steve awakes with a violent start, gasping and trembling and out of his damn mind. He fumbles around in the dark, humid night air enveloping him, but no sound resonates around him except the rustling winds.  There's no life, just like in the dream, or was it real-

His hands find purchase on warm flesh, and he curls up against the body. Steve's ears are still full of the sound of rushing water, and there's a faint nose in the background but it doesn't quite reach; the arms are unresponsive, at first, before loosely wrapping around him. There's muffled noise now but the painful thump of his own heart blocks out the sound.

Gradually, the rumble fades away until all he can hear is his own harsh breathing. He becomes aware of something painful digging into his side, and the stickiness of the air, along with-

"Hey. You... you okay?" Tony asks, and even at this proximity, he still isn't completely visible. He sounds like a man that doesn't know how to be careful. "You scared me like that, asshole."

Steve focuses on the inhale, exhale. _In_ hale, _ex_ hale. _Inhale, exhale_. "Sorry, I, I just, I had a nightmare. It was the ocean at first, but I fell in and it was so cold, and it started turning into ice-"

"Ocean? Again?"

He nods, unbalanced. Steve wants to hang on to the warmth forever, even in this summer heat, but it's already beginning to feel awkward anyway. Carefully, he draws away, and they sit beside each other in silence. The surroundings have changed, he realizes. Even in the dim light, it's obvious.

"Where are we?" It comes out in a whisper, for some reason.

Tony suddenly flicks on a light in the car, and it throws a harsh yellow glare over them. For the first time, Steve realizes how tired Tony looks, with smudges of purple under his eyes. "Louisiana."

It doesn't clarify anything to him. "So, closer."

He grins tiredly in reply. "Closer."

A pause. "I'm sorry. I wish I could drive," Steve mumbles, and he hates how Tony always overworks himself, but there's nothing he can do about it now. The billionaire waves it off with a flourish, tactfully switching subjects. "Your nightmares. They could be symbolic. Maybe He sent them?"

"Maybe," creaks a voice that's neither of them, "Or maybe He sent us, too."

They both jump. There's a figure that comes into view a few feet from the car, and Tony is very surprised, but his face doesn't show a single hint.

It's Clint. It's Clint Barton, in the flesh. His quiver and bow are slung over one shoulder as usual, and he looks very clean. There's something different about him. Evil different? Good different?

Tony can't quite... bring himself to care. His logic seems to be slowly stripping away at the sight of someone so familiar and relieving.

"What in the hell are you doing here?" Tony grins, drawing a wince from Steve, and stands up as best as possible in the car, as two more people emerge behind Hawkeye: Wanda and Bruce. "Jesus, is everyone here? The terrific trio?"

Then Steve stiffens. It's almost imperceptible, but to his keen eyes, it's there.

As they draw even nearer Tony realizes something is very, very wrong.

They're _off_ , they look too perfect, and there's something so dark about their eyes that makes him want to just _give in_ and kneel. He laughs with ease. "Well, it was nice seeing you."

Then he promptly sits down to floor it.

Air blasts them both full on in the face, and there's something nasty, snarling behind them, clawing to catch up. "There are _demons_ chasing us," Tony shouts over the noise, "Fucking demons! How the fuck do I fight them?"

"I don't- I don't know," Steve stammers, and they're racing across in this unbelievable darkness, things scrabbling at the dirt behind them. "They're at the extent of their power right now, it's nighttime-"

"I will not," he breathes sharply through his nose, "die like this."

He presses his foot even harder into the gas pedal, and it complies, although reluctantly. They zoom ahead in the darkness, headlights irradiating every inch of black tar. "We need a plan. This isn't going to hold them off for long."

"This isn't going to hold them off at all," Something growls in the back seat, and Steve turns around while Tony clenches the wheel tighter, knuckles turning pale. There's- a monster in there, it's not even really coherent, just a fluid mess of black, blending into every shadow. It seems to embody the night sky, and Steve suddenly feels very, very small.

 _"Angel,"_ it croons, drawing even closer, clicking and tittering. _"Are you ready to taste the destruction we will paint into your lips? Spilling, blackened, from your mouth..."_

He's so frightened. It roots him to the spot, and it's not because he's scared of monsters, it's just the rotten core of this being, that seems to directly violate everything about his own heart. He tries to fight it, but the iniquity swallows him whole, slowly surrounds him...

"Taste this," comes an irritated voice, and then the demon is completely pushed back, overflowing over the car's back. Tony turns back to driving as the rest of his armor melts over his skin, red and gold climbing to crawl over every square inch. "Steve, Stephan? You okay? What-"

The angel turns to him, and his pupils are blown. His eyes are already a bright blue, but now they're fragmented and unnaturally azure behind the dilated black. Each iris is frantically travelling all over the place, seeing everything but nothing. 

 _"Shit,"_ Tony mutters. He can't stop driving, so instead he just continues with one hand, reaching over to nudge Steve with a hand. "Come on, come on. You with me?"

Nothing.

Cursing in frustration, he grabs the back of Steve's neck, pulling him closer in an awkwardly positioned one-handed hug. "Steve. Stephan. We're driving, in a car, on the road, on Earth. With me- Tony Stark. You with me? Breathe in and out. In, out."

Tension diffuses from the angel ever so gradually, eyes resizing back to normal, inhaling and exhaling with deep effort. He's almost made it until something crashes into the back of the car, and they both know a demon has caught up. "No, don't think about Hell," Tony desperately tries to reassure, "You're safe, with me. We're making it out alive. To the end of the line, remember?"

Steve's eyes screw shut, he mutters, "To the end of the line," and when he opens them again, they're normal. It takes a minute for him to really remember, but his being, his mind- it's there. 

"Wow." Tony hits the brakes in one swift motion, the car halting and skidding to a stop. Every tire squeaks with protest, but all he does is lean back, let the Iron Man suit swallow him whole, prepared for battle. "Time to join the real fight now."

"No kidding," Steve murmurs, and he stands a little shakily, revealing every feather again with a powerful beat of his wings. 

They are red against white against gold, a beautiful contrast of certain color. In the vehicle, they stand back to back, awaiting even the slightest movement from the shadows.

 


	9. through and through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what to do because I love this fic so much but I've lost interest in it and I have no motivation to write Stony at the time. Lord help me. My sincere apologies guys, I'll update this one and figure something out

"Tony? Tony, please-"

Someone's talking to him, but it's so muffled, as if shouting through a thick glass wall. It would be so easy to just ignore it and settle back down into comfortable darkness, but it's just so persistent-

"I don't know what to _do,_ Tony, I can't..."

Laced with something like panic. Tony groans as his eyes flutter open and then close again, and he catches a glimpse of red and blue.

"Tony! Tony, wake up." Incessant shaking.

"Wha-" he mumbles, and then sits nearly straight up, body supported by his arms, gasping like a fish out of water. A jolt of pain runs through his system, but he's so disoriented it doesn't really fucking matter. To Tony's left kneels Steve, looking dirty and worse for wear but radiantly happy.

"That smile is disgusting," he remarks. "Wipe it off."

"I thought- I thought you'd never wake up again," Steve leans back. He's dressed into a strange assortment of clothes, uniform off, wings flashing.

"What the fuck happened?" He's dirty and smeared with blood and other black substances he'd prefer not to think about. The last thing Iron Man remembers is a picture out of some old timey movie, him in a retro suit, back to back with a grim looking angel in the front of an Italian model on auto drive.

"We were fighting a while and then one of the- the demons, it clawed you and it knocked you out completely. Poison or something. But I escaped and drove here-"

"You drove the car?"

"Well, I remembered from watching you, and it seemed pretty simple. I just stepped on the pedal and the car went so fast."

"You're telling me you outdrove three demons and somehow eluded them all?" Tony's neck aches, of all places. "I mean, I believe in you, but-"

Steve sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, about that... I don't- I don't really know how to explain it. They were just on me, and I kind of went into that state of mind again-" (Tony thinks of wide blown pupils and frozen hands) "-but I... did something. There was a lot of light."

"And?"

"And they just disappeared," he finishes lamely. "I think I killed them. Maybe."

Almost involuntarily, Tony's fingers come up to the sensitive skin of his neck, and he realizes there are bandages wrapped around a side.

They're in the backseat of the car, but when he looks around he finds they're atop a cliff, surrounded by trees, more green down below, on all sides. And to the right-

"Hollywood," he murmurs, reading the sign in a flash, then- "Hollywood? Steve, you damn smartass! You made it! We're in fucking Los Angeles!"

"I..." He looks around. "Oh. That's where this is?"

"Fuck! I could kiss you right now!" Tony exclaims, and he's clambering out of the car to bask in the glorious sunlight of California. Pepper and Rhodey and everyone else are so close; they can finally regroup and begin making real plans. Real discussions. Real reunions.

Meanwhile, Steve flushes red and climbs out too. "You're not in the best shape right now, you should probably lie down-"

"Bull." He waves the angel off. "Besides, I'm not the one in need of rest here. Have you taken a look at your wings yet, Stevie?"

Bewildered, he twists his head to do so, curling his right wing towards his front body. It's cracked with black, dust and dirt, like if it were shattering like glass. But the real difference is the color. Once an ethereal, lustrous white, pure to the touch, now it gleams a dull ivory. Almost as if it's lost its magic.

He can only breathe in dismay. Tony seems to notice. "Don't worry. Once we reach the safe house, you can take a nice, long, hot shower. Wash the shit from them."

Steve joins the billionaire on the hill. They overlook an entire city, once busy and teeming with life but now mostly deserted. The angels seem to have taken no interest in the place after wrecking it, because there are none to be seen. People, presumably homeless, wander around different areas. Funnily enough, the Hollywood sign remains untouched.

"Where... is it?" Steve knows it couldn't just be in plain sight. Was it invisible too?

"Underground," comes the reply.

"Damn," he grumbles. An angel is meant for light and free air for miles. Liberty. Nature. Not the dark, enclosed, dampness of some enclosing cave.

Tony whistles. "Aren't you, like, an innocent virgin that's not supposed to curse?"

No reply. But he's probably blushing. Tony continues, "It's not that bad. Promise. I think it's designed to feel as... liberating as possible. Lots of light. Airy. The works."


	10. you lie of robbed stories and unspoken words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> starting off with something short but full of surprise!

"You hunt mistakenly." Natalia sharpens the expanse of a serrated knife with fierce concentration, every whittle scraping across the flat surface, accompanied with a screeching protest. Beautiful, intricate designs are carved into the golden handle. Her stomach twists with uneasiness when the black shadow cast by the fire reforms in jagged motions, but her outer demeanor is cool and collected. "Why chase after me? I am not the one you desire."

Black flows in striking branches of a dead tree around her, but it won't strike. Not yet. Not now. The voice is back, the voice... it drives something deep and stabbing into her soul. "You are only a pawn of the chessboard, Natalia of the Eighth Order. There are others we have yet to close claws upon, a vice of choking and suffering..."

It edges nearer. She stands, a blazing beacon of glory against the dark night, and her womanly form is illuminated by her own fire. The blade hangs smartly at her side, and the demon has no choice but to hiss back in fury, retreating.

"Who? Who do you seek? Name such angels, and I will respond in order to your future failures."

It laughs horribly, malevolently. "Thor and Lokeson of the Ninth Order-"

"Wholly too powerful for you to touch. They exist second-in-command only to He himself. They posses powers of thunder, deceit- powers you could only ever wish upon... an angel for." She smirks.

"Oh, they are only the start of the celestial hierarchy we will dominate."

The ground trembles and convulses, but not uncontrollably, like usual. It is slight, almost. Gentle. It moans and creaks like an old woman gasping for her last breath, and that is when Natalie understands the true beings that she and her brethren must fight against. Something older than life, than dimension, than time. Something as old as the air mortals breathe and the songs angels sing.

For a mere second, it is a shapeless entity, a dark deity, something flowing through all the blackness in the world. Then it solidifies rapidly into a simple human form, someone lean but muscled, tousled but sharp.

Tony Stark gazes without a care, and his eyes are red. "You take pleasure in irritating me, child?"

She is speechless for the first and last time. Behind him, a familiar figure combusts into place, but he is weathered and beaten and hard. Natalie's lips part, and a soft thump resonates as the knife falls from her fingers in a horrifying display of vulnerable astonishment.

"Stephen... and Stark? You are-" she takes a step back, and then another, she is terrified- "This cannot be. You are not- I know-"

"Don't look so petrified," Stephen snarls, and his lips twist to form a cruel, cruel smile. "We're not of this world. We've taken notice of our poor imitations here, however, and we're hungry for fresh meat."

The flames grow even brighter, even larger, licking the heavens as a dangerous warning. Stark's hands crackle with the power of a millennia. "You look shocked. I wonder why, when you've been expecting this war for eons... have you not?"

"The angels are a people of peace," she manages to declare, but he only looks down. Natalie follows Tony's gaze, down to the knife laying neglected on the ground. She looks carefully, and with a sinking feeling, realizes the holy engravings depict...War. Bloodshed. Anguished. Tormented souls.

When she looks back up, they are gone.

"Father, protect me, bless me, shield me from Satan," and she collapses in the dirt.  

* * *

"You know, I have a question. Why do your friends talk all Shakespearian-like when you sound like a regular mortal?"

"What friends?"

"Natalia? Natalie the hottie? She sounded like Shylock straight from the Merchant of Venice, demanding war, flesh, something. You just seem so..." He kicks a stray rock on the road. "Human."

"I don't know." Steve trails behind, eyes wary and hands fidgety. "It came naturally to me. I don't know."

Tony frowns, contemplating several ideas at once, and then the expression deepens when he notices the angel's demeanor. "You okay there? You look even stiffer than usual. And that's saying something."

"There's something off about this place, or where we're going, or something," he replies quietly. "I'm not quite sure."

The billionaire doesn't want to ignore an obvious warning from the divine being beside him, but he's also nearly jumping out of his pants anticipating seeing his friends. It's been months. _Months._ He wants some sanctuary. Besides... "Don't worry, Steve. It's most likely leftover demonic residue or the like. This city's been ravaged to the brink of extinction. There's literally nothing and no one here except a few hobos, empty shells of buildings, and looted stores. And, of course, the safe house."

The other man nods, and seems to relax a fraction. "You're probably right. I'm just... excited from the last fight. Are we there yet?"

"Patience, grasshopper."

Tony spies faded stars slipping away beneath his feet. He might never find his own again, under all the accumulating layers of dirt and angel dust. When he looks around, many small shops, most likely the remains of dainty stores to attract tourists and a means of window-shopping, are all dilapidated. Signs hang half-off, doors lay eerily ajar, and he can see half of the man he once was in his obscure reflection.

Fortunately, Steve seems to notice the melancholy air, and doesn't speak any longer. The two walk in silence until Tony stops in front of a small building that's conspicuous even after a year of disuse. The neon sign is labeled "Sweets."

"A candy shop?"

Tony looks like he's trying to hold back laughter. "Not quite, virgin."

They enter, and Steve can barely make sense of the dark, sultry atmosphere and strange mechanisms hanging from the walls. There are toys littered around the rooms, sometimes leading into private, curtained stalls. It looks like a place where you could be drugged a thousand ways and still have fun until the next morning, when you wake up sixty miles from home with one shoe on.

Steve blushes a furious shade of red that's so bright he's utterly grateful for the dim setting. Tony only chuckles, muttering, "Candy shop," under his breath as they make their way towards the back to the bathroom.

"Why did you choose, a, uh... a sex club?" Steve clears his throat.

"Fun times." They enter a small stall and it's a tight fit.

The angel is bewildered. "Why are we in... the bathroom?"

Then Tony Stark pulls an old-fashioned plug dangling from the ceiling of the restroom, and they both flush into darkness.


End file.
